Character Snippets
by LacyLu42
Summary: NEW! Draco Scene! Just some short one shot snippets I write to get the feel for some characters or a scene. Just writing exercises really, but enjoy!
1. Default Chapter

"I can't... I won't believe it," Hermione stammered as she dropped into one of the squashy armchairs in the Gryffindor common room. Ron was slumped, defeated on the couch next to her.  
  
"Believe it," he said darkly. "I mean, you can't have not seen this one coming?" Hermione shook her head in disbelief.  
  
"Well of course, I always knew Harry would have something to do with... But to have the be the one who actually..." Ron nodded.   
  
"I know. It's like something out of a bad dream." Hermione stood up again and began pacing back and forth in front of the common room fire as she had been doing for almost an hour.  
  
"Why didn't he tell us sooner?" she demanded. "There's got to be a loophole, or an adendum or something... Trelawney's an old fraud anyway..." Ron took a long pull of his butterbeer and said nothing. She continued muttering and pacing for a few more moments before droping down onto the couch next to him.  
  
"What are we going to do?" she whispered. Ron stared blankly into the fire.   
  
"We'll just keep helping him, the way we always have," he replied without feeling. "What else can we do?" Hermione made a strange sound, and Ron turned to look at her. She was crying.  
  
Ron had seen Hermione cry before. He'd been the cause of it more than once, but he'd never seen her cry like this. Usually, her face squeezed up until she looked like some one had crumpled her up like an old paper. Her face would get all red and blotchy and her eyes would swell up, and usually she would make odd, high pitched sobbing noises.  
  
Now she was staring at the fire, tears rolling down her face in silent grief and agony, and somehow it was much much worse.  
  
"Hey," he said suddenly, "hey don't cry." An overwhelming feeling came over him, and before he knew what he was doing, he had put his arms around her. She lay her head on his shoulder and continued to cry silently, her body shaking slightly with each silent sob. "Hermione..." he began, his voice low and soft, "don't..."  
  
She pulled away from him at looked at him through tear stained eyes.  
  
"Don't what Ron? Don't worry? Don't cry? Don't grieve because I might lose him? All right, I won't if you tell me how." She stared at him, her brown eyes looking lost and pleading. He shook his head.  
  
"I don't know," he said finally. "But I do know this. We're not going to lose him. Not without a hell of a fight." 


	2. The Kiss

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Sorry to anyone I confused: these are just scenes I write for myself to try to get a handle on who a character is or how they might react to a certain situation. It's really just a kind of writing exercise I do to help me with the full-length fic that I'm writing. The Ron/Hermione scene won't actually be in the story, for example, because Harry's not there -- and I'm using Rowling's style and only writing from Harry's POV -- but it helps me to get a handle on how those two characters might react and interact.

Here's another for ya. If you like these, do check out my other story and let me know what you think of it.

Thanks!

Lacy

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"Harry!" Her voice was pleading. Reluctantly, he stopped on the stairs. She hurried to meet him, stopping a few steps above. "Look," she began quietly, "I'm sorry about my dad. He's a total asshole, but you have to consider where he's coming from. In America, you're like an urban legend -- a baby who defeated a dark wizard that no one else could kill? You have to admit, to someone who doesn't know you really exist..." She paused, her eyes searching his. "I can see why my dad wouldn't believe it," she said finally.  
  
"I don't care what your dad believes," Harry answered. "What do you believe?" She smiled at him fondly.  
  
"I believe that you're a good guy, Harry, and I believe that you would never lie to me or do anything to hurt me." She took another step down so that they were now only one step apart. "And I believe that, against my better judgement, I'm doing the one thing I swore to myself I would never do."  
  
"What's that?" Harry breathed, unable to take his eyes off her. She gave him a very small sultry smile.  
  
"I'm falling for a wizard," she whispered. Harry's heart leaped against his ribs. She was very very close. His mind didn't seem to be working properly, so he let his instincts take over.  
  
Reaching up with one arm, he put his hand on her waist and drew her down towards him until her face was level with his. She did not resist. Closing his eyes, he found that he didn't even have to think about what to do as his lips met hers. Her hand found his shoulder and squeezed it gently. He wished his other arm were not holding his bookbag, so that he could hold her properly.  
  
And then it was over. They broke apart and he noticed that she was blushing furiously. She smiled wryly at him and gave a little mock sigh.  
  
"Now you've done it," she said softly. Below them, a rush of noise signaled that the feast had ended. Any moment the stairs would be flooded with well-fed students heading back to their dormitories.   
  
She retreated back up a few steps. "Goodnight, Harry," she said softly.  
  
"Goodnight." He watched her until she was completely out of sight.


	3. Draco 1 At the Ministry

A/N: This is the first in a series of scenes written from Draco's POV that run parallel to my novel length fic Harry Potter and the Sect of the Serpent.

I wrote these scenes to try to get a better handle on who Draco Malfoy is (in my incarnation of him) and to try to better figure out his motivation. It is an exercise in characterization, and I found it extremely helpful. If you read it and have anything constructive to say, please do -- especially if you are someone who writes (or reads) from Draco's POV on a regular basis.

There will be more scenes from Draco to come... Thanks for reading!

* * *

Draco Malfoy stood sulking near the cloak check room in the elaborately decorated baroque ballroom on the top floor of the Ministry of Magic. This was not how he had pictured his first Ministry function. He had been eager for the chance to attend the function with his father, imagining himself being introduced to all manner of important wizards and witches that his father knew, making small talk with Ministry officials, and generally impressing everyone he met and doing his father proud. He had pictured it in his mind as almost a kind of elaborate coming out ceremony for himself, paving the way for his introduction into politics and power through his family's good name.

He had not, however, pictured the look of utter disgust on his father's face when he had learned that the function was a "family" affair and that wives and even _children_ were invited to attend. Draco hadn't counted on not being the only young protégé to appear in the ballroom on a father's cloak tails, and the disappointment of realizing that his father had not only not wanted to include him, but therefore had no intention of introducing him to anyone had, in fact sent Draco off into a darkened corner, no longer willing to silently trail his parents around the room like a trained pet.

A waiter passed his corner with a tray of cocktails, and Draco snatched one, daring the boy -- barely older than himself -- to say anything about it with a vicious glare. The waiter obviously decided it wasn't worth the effort, and passed without a word. Grinning, Draco took a huge gulp of the drink and nearly choked. He felt the hot burning sensation of Firewhiskey sliding down his throat and tried to cough with dignity.

The room was filled with all manner of witches and wizards in dress robes dragging their immaculately scrubbed and pressed and curled children along behind them. Draco recognized a few of the sprogs as students at Hogwarts, but there were none he wanted to associate with. He realized, as he swallowed the rest of his drink, that it was far more dangerous for him to be off on his own than trailing around with his parents listening to their small talk. One wrong move, one misstep, one word to the wrong sort of person, and he might embarrass his father. Draco swallowed hard, willing himself not to cough again. This party was important for his father to reestablish his reputation as a Ministry insider after the debacle at the beginning of the summer. Draco knew that his father was showing supreme confidence in his associations with the Minister and other officials by even showing his face here tonight. Embarrassing his father was simply not to be done, a lesson Draco had learned as a very small child.

So, instead, he stayed by himself, not willing to risk the ignominy of speaking to the wrong person, and watched the swirling mass of people filling the ballroom. A nasal laugh caught his attention, and he caught a glimpse of a bright red head following the Minister from one group of people to another. Malfoy ground his teeth. How blood traitors like Percy Weasley could be given such high ranking positions was beyond him. He wondered if his father's trust in Minister Fudge wasn't slightly misplaced, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. Father knew what he was doing. He always did.

Draco continued scanning the room, keeping a watch out for another passing waiter from whom he might steal another drink, when he saw his father and mother approaching him and straightened himself up. Lucius Malfoy looked positively regal as he strode across the ballroom floor leading his wife Narcissa, one hand in the small of her back, guiding her, the other clamped possessively and firmly on her elbow. Draco surreptitiously dropped his empty glass onto a table behind him and took a few steps forward.

"Draco," Lucius drawled cooly, "what _are_ you doing?" Draco curbed his impulse to hang his head and instead looked his father directly in the eye.

"Nothing, Father," he said firmly. He thought he saw his father's eyes glint dangerously.

"Well come here, there is someone we would like you to meet." Draco's heart missed a beat in excitement as he fell into step behind his parents. They approached a small knot of people laughing genially at joke that a tall man in the center of the group had been telling. He had sandy blonde hair and a friendly face with deep set blue eyes that twinkled with laughter, even when his face was serious. His skin was deeply tanned, and he wore a very expensive set of black dress robes over a black suit with a royal blue shirt and black tie. Draco found his clothes and his manner very odd.

"Ah Lucius!" Minister Fudge said as the Malfoy's approached. "We were just talking about you! Let me introduce you to our guest of honor, Mr. John Griffiths, Special Envoy from the American Warlock Senate. He's representing our ally's interests in the whole unfortunate business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. John, this is Lucius Malfoy." The tall man held out his hand and smiled broadly, showing off his perfectly straight white teeth. Lucius took the hand and immediately had his arm pumped enthusiastically.

"It's a pleasure, sir, a pleasure!" John said loudly. His accent was distinctly American, with the slightest hint of a southern drawl. "Minister Fudge has been speaking very highly of you." Lucius gave him a coldly indulgent smile.

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, Mr. Griffiths."

"John! Call me John, everyone does."

Lucius inclined his head slightly in acquiescence. "My wife, Narcissa," he said, gently tugging the beautiful woman on his arm forward. Mr. Griffiths bowed and kissed her hand. "And our son, Draco," Lucius continued, stepping aside so that, for the first time, Draco could look the other man in the face.

Draco had a moment of panic, wondering if he was meant to shake Mr. Griffiths' hand or bow, or if he would be expected to say anything. He was saved from having to decide when Mr. Griffiths grinned toothily at him and stuck out his hand. Draco shook it. The other man's grip was very firm.

"Pleased to meet you!" Mr. Griffiths bellowed. "You look about the same age as my Gwyn. I should introduce you -- Gwyn!" He turned and shouted over his shoulder. Draco tried to follow his gaze over to a group of women chatting nearby. One young woman disengaged herself from the group and began walking towards them. She was also quite tall and slender, like her father, and like him, her skin was darkly tanned. Her hair was the color of corn silk and shone prettily in the glinting lights of the ballroom. She wore it in a rather old fashioned, but never the less very becoming wave, with curls falling seamlessly over her bare shoulders. She was wearing a strapless pale pink cocktail dress and impossibly tall high heeled shoes.

Draco was vaguely aware that the adults around him were speaking, but he couldn't have focused on what they were saying if he had tried. He was completely fixated with the girl walking towards them.

"Gwyn, honey, I'd like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy and their son, Draco. My daughter, Gwendolyn." Gwendolyn's face began to glow as she smiled warmly at each of them in turn, shaking his mother's hand, allowing her hand to be kissed by his father. When she got to him, she smiled even more brightly and said, "Hello," as she held out her hand. Draco grasped her hand firmly and inclined his head as he bent to kiss it, never taking his eyes off of hers. She seemed surprised by the gesture, probably unused to such refined manners, he thought. The adults were once again talking around them, and Draco realized that he ought to say something. Frantically, he cast about in his mind for a topic.

"It's a nice party," Gwendolyn said finally.

"Oh, it's all right I suppose," Draco replied. "I always think the Ministry over does the decorations for these sorts of things." He slipped into the lie with ease, hoping to impress her. She simply said "Mmm..." and nodded vaguely.

"Gwyn's going to be attending Hogwarts while we're here," Mr. Griffiths was saying. "I hear you're on the Board of Governors, Lucius?"

"You seem to be very well informed... John. I am indeed."

"Excellent! I know it's hard on Gwyn leaving all her friends behind, but I told her I'd heard there was no finer school of magic across the pond than Hogwarts."

"You go to Hogwarts, then?" Gwendolyn asked him. Draco gave her a haughty smile.

"Oh yes, of course."

She smiled back. "Well, then I'll at least recognize one friendly face when I go."

"Oh indeed! And I'll be happy to introduce you to all the best people there," Draco replied. "All the oldest families are represented at Hogwarts right now." Gwendolyn's smile seemed to falter slightly as a look of confusion passed over her lovely eyes.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Mr. Griffiths was saying, "I don't suppose I could persuade you to do me the honor of a dance?" Draco looked over sharply at his mother who was smiling prettily at the American politician. His father had moved away slightly to speak to Minister Fudge. Draco frowned and she caught his eye. She gave a high shrill little laugh.

"Oh, Mr. Griffiths, you flatter me. But I think that sort of thing ought to be left to the young people!" She glanced significantly over at Draco as the orchestra struck up a new song. Taking his cue, he turned back to Gwendolyn.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked, offering her his hand. Hesitantly, she glanced over at her father, who nodded encouragingly before she accepted his outstretched hand. Draco smiled. He liked obedience in a girl.

He led her out to the dance floor area and placed his other hand on her hip. Her dress was made from a soft chiffon type material and made him shiver slightly to touch it. Draco took a moment to go back in his mind to his dancing lessons with his private tutor before quickly turning her across the floor. She followed gracefully and he was pleased.

As they twirled and spun across the floor, Draco held his head high, proudly. Obviously, his father had chosen to introduce him to Mr. Griffiths because he had known there was a Miss Griffiths. Obviously Lucius had wanted Draco to make a good impression on the young woman and, subsequently, her father. Draco felt quite confident that he was doing just that. He glanced down and tried to catch Gwendolyn's eye, but she was looking resolutely out over his shoulder. Those high heels made her a bit tall. Taller than him actually, by a hair. He'd have to ensure that she didn't wear them again when they were out together...

The dance was over far too quickly for Draco's taste, and unfortunately, the orchestra chose that precise moment to pause to take a break. He and Gwendolyn separated reluctantly to applaud the orchestra.

"Thank you for the dance," he said, bowing to her once again, and once again, never letting his eyes leave hers.

"Thank you," she replied, "you're a very good dancer." Draco gave her his most humbly charming smile.

"Gwyn!" It was Mr. Griffiths' voice. She turned and nodded at her father who was calling her from across the room.

"Well, it was nice meeting you," she said with a small smile. He thought she looked reluctant to go. "I'll see you at school."

"Perhaps we could have another dance when the orchestra comes back," he suggested, taking a step forward to take her hand again. She obviously didn't hear him, because she was already hurrying off to join her father. Definitely an obedient young lady.


	4. Draco 2 The Gargoyle

A/N: This is part two in the Draco character development series! Enjoy!

Lacy

* * *

Draco didn't see Gwendolyn again until the first day of classes at Hogwarts. He and Crabbe and Goyle had discovered Neville Longbottom pacing back and forth outside the greenhouses before Herbology and had decided to give him a little attention.

"Oy! Loser!" Draco called with barely concealed glee. He was always most in his element when he had someone to jeer at, someone to belittle, and he had just the taunt to send Longbottom over the edge. He'd been saving it up all summer since his father had told him what had happened at the Ministry, and he was dying to use it.

Longbottom stopped dead in his tracks and drew his wand at the sound of Draco's voice. Crabbe snickered at the sight as they approached the cowardly boy, but Draco tensed ever so slightly; Longbottom was one of the idiots who'd decided to take lessons from Potter in defense. Not that it would do them any good of course.

"Have a nice summer on the mental ward, Loser?" Draco taunted as he and his friends stopped a few feet from where Longbottom was standing. Longbottom didn't reply, he merely clenched his fist tightly around his wand. Fine, Draco thought to himself, time to cut to the chase.

"My aunt wanted me to tell you hello," he began genially enough. Longbottom's forehead creased in confusion, but still he didn't say anything. "She awfully enjoyed meeting you, she said. In fact, my father told me that my aunt Bella took quite an_ interest_ in you." That had done it. At the mention of her name, Longbottom had visibly tensed, his face beginning to turn red, and beads of sweat breaking out across his pudgy face. Draco almost laughed out loud at how easy it was. "Seems she saw quite a family resemblance -- something in the way you _twitched_ and _screamed_..."

"Tired of picking fights with me already, Malfoy?" a voice shouted from somewhere behind him, and Draco felt his insides turn cold with hatred at the sound. "Or are you just tired of losing?" Very slowly and deliberately, Draco turned to face the aberration as he ran across the damp grass towards them. He sneered with loathing at the abhorrent face of Harry Potter. He felt Crabbe and Goyle take a step forward in his defense, and he forced himself to smile.

"Ah," Draco said smoothly, running his hand through his white blonde hair, "the great Harry Potter arrives. Have they added 'Longbottom's Body Guard' to your Chocolate Frog card yet? Only a matter of time, I suppose..." Crabbe and Goyle chuckled appreciatively on cue, and Draco felt his confidence building as Potter sidled up next to Longbottom and they exchanged significant looks.

"All right there, Harry? Neville?" It was Ron Weasley with his Mudblood Granger in tow. His face was flushed and his wand was drawn.

"Oh look, Potter," Draco drawled. "The cavalry's arrived. Too bad your army's made up of Mudbloods and weasels."

He was about to make another decidedly witty and cutting remark, when he saw something that almost made him forget that Harry Potter even existed. Just cresting the nearby rise in the hill was Gwendolyn Griffiths.

Potter, Longbottom and the rest momentarily forgotten, Draco brushed past them to meet the young woman walking directly towards him.

"Gwendolyn!" he drawled smoothly, walking up to her. "We meet again!" He took her hand in his own and kissed it.

"Hello, Draco," she said. Potter, Longbottom, and Weasley all turned to stare and Draco felt triumphant. He fancied he could almost feel the jealousy radiating off of them as they watched him with the beautiful American girl. At that moment, however, he realized that Gwendolyn wasn't looking at him any longer, but over his shoulder at Potter.

"Tell me," Draco continued in his most charming voice, "has Potter been bothering you?" Gwendolyn smiled slightly.

"Not at all," she replied. "Actually, he was just showing me to class." Draco felt a surge of anger pulse through him as he turned and shot Potter a very black look. He was pleased, at least, to see that Potter looked no happier than he felt.

"Had I but known," he continued, turning back to Gwendolyn, "I would have offered to escort you myself. You see, I was hoping to renew our acquaintance. Your father whisked you off so quickly that I didn't get a chance to thank you properly for the dance we shared." Gwendolyn lowered her eyes demurely, and Draco wondered if he had made her blush. He looked triumphantly back at Potter who had gone pale and positively green about the edges with envy.

Just then, dumpy Professor Sprout came bustling around the corner jingling a fat ring of keys. "Sorry I'm late," she said brightly. "In you go now, we've got lots to do!"

"Saved by the bell, Potter," Draco laughed as he pushed past Potter and Longbottom, Gwendolyn's elbow clutched in his pale hand. He walked to the greenhouse door and held it open, smiling at her. He thought he felt her pause slightly as she looked back at Potter before allowing him to lead her into the warm greenhouse. Good manners, he decided. She was simply trying to be polite. His mother would approve.

But for the rest of the class, Draco couldn't help but notice that his lovely partner seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time looking across the greenhouse to where Potter and Longbottom were butchering their project. In fact, she was so distracted, that she accidentally tipped an overly full container of manure directly into his brand new leather book bag. He assured her it was nothing as they left the greenhouses, and that he would write his father and have a new one sent in the morning, but she seemed less than interested.

"What class do you have next?" he asked as he held the door open for her, carrying the offending bag as far away from her as he could. "I would be happy to--"

"Thanks, Draco, but I think I can find it myself," she said curtly before breaking into a run up the slippery hill in the rain. As she crested the top of the first rise, he distinctly heard her call, "Harry! Harry, wait!"

Draco clenched his fists as he felt the cold pit of jealousy that had been forming in his stomach grow by several sizes.

Over the next week it became increasingly apparent to Draco that Potter had somehow managed to beat him to the finish line once again. It didn't add up, didn't make sense. In the well ordered world he'd been brought up in, weak, meddlesome blood traitors did not ever have the upper hand. It was the pureblood families that ruled, and rightfully so with an iron fist. Yet here, in this castle, the place his father had once referred to as "the best and worst thing to happen to a man," here, everything was different. Nothing made sense in the order of things as he knew them to be. Blood counted for practically nothing in every house other than his own, and even the Slytherins were beginning to watch in horror as the hierarchical foundations of their world began to crumble at the edges. Mudbloods were at the top of the class and the stars of the Quiddich teams, and one Harry Potter seemed to be determined to beat Draco at everything he tried.

When Draco had dreamed of a spot on the Slytherin house team, Harry Potter was already on the Gryffindor team, and the youngest Seeker in a century. When Draco wanted to discover who the heir of Slytherin was, Harry Potter was already in the Chamber of Secrets. When Draco wanted to win the Quiddich Cup, Harry Potter was snatching the Snitch out from under his nose.

On and on it went. When Draco wanted to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry Potter won it. When Draco wanted to earn his father's respect, Harry Potter had it, in a loathsome sort of way. And now, when Draco wanted Gwendolyn Griffiths, it seemed Harry Potter already had her, too.

He had tried being friendly and flirtatious with Gwendolyn. He had found her sitting alone at the Ravenclaw table before Potter in his gang had emerged from their ridiculous Defense class and had tried to strike up a conversation.

"Gwendolyn, you're looking lovely, as usual," he said smoothly, drawing up next to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. His fingers brushed her hair and he felt a shiver go up his spine at its luxurious softness. How he would love to run his fingers through it...

"Oh. Hello Draco." Her voice was flat, hollow. She shifted slightly and his hand slipped off of her shoulder. He took this as an invitation to sit down and, shooting a furtive glance around the room to make sure that no one was watching -- no one important at least -- he dropped down onto the bench next to her.

"What classes do you have this afternoon?" he asked conversationally, trying to look into her lovely bright blue eyes. She looked away demurely and began rummaging about in her bag.

"Care of Magical Creatures," she replied, pulling out a textbook and opening it to the side of her plate. Draco scoffed.

"I do as well," he said sympathetically. "It's taught by that disgusting half-breed Hagrid. He can barely speak clearly, let alone teach, and he's always bringing these frightfully unruly beasts to class. I wanted to drop the class, but father insisted I take at least five N.E.W.T.s..." He leaned towards her conspiratorially. "In our third year he showed us a hippogriff and it attacked me, completely unprovoked!" He held out his arm and flexed it experimentally for her. "It's a lucky thing I have quick reflexes or I could have been dead. Father tried to have him sacked straight away, but he's a pet favorite of Dumbledore's..." Gwendolyn made a vague noise of agreement, her nose buried in her book. Draco frowned slightly. He wasn't used to being ignored.

Deciding to try a different tact, he reached out and grabbed her book away from her, snapping it shut. She stared at him and he grinned playfully. Unfortunately, she didn't seem amused.

"May I have my book back please?" she asked firmly, her eyes never leaving his face. They seemed a bit harder, a bit colder blue than he remembered. She held out her hand to take the book and he held it further away from her.

"I just wanted to catch your attention," he said, still smiling his most charming Malfoy smile. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you weren't pleased to see me." Gwendolyn continued to stare at him. He expected her to counter with apologies and excuses of overdue homework or impending essays, but she merely continued to stare, without smiling.

Anger began welling up inside Draco as he slapped the book down onto the table. Gwendolyn took it, opened it, and began trying to find her place. "I'm going to go grab a bite to eat," he said finally, trying one last time, "but I'd be happy to show you down to class after." She did not look up from her book.

"That's OK," she said firmly. "Harry's going to show me."

Draco didn't really remember much of the rest of his lunch. He had gone back to his table in a cloud of angry fog and poked at the food that Pansy put in front of him. She was blathering on about something or other, as she was wont to do, and he had long ago found that if he just agreed whenever she paused for breath, he could happily occupy his mind with other things. He had watched as Harry Potter and his retinue of admirers had entered the Great Hall looking like the cats who've caught the pixies, all secretive and pleased with themselves. And then he watched in horror as Gwendolyn, apparently no longer the least bit interested in her text book hurried happily across the hall to sit next to Potter at the Gryffindor table.

The feelings bubbling up inside him were fiercely strong as he followed the ridicules oaf of a teacher up one stairway after another. He could see Gwendolyn talking cheerfully with Potter and his friends up ahead of him, and it made him want to draw his wand and hex them all. But he and Nott were seriously outnumbered by Potter devotees in this class.

He tried to expend some of his venom on Weasley's head, and then on Hagrid's, but the futility of it only seemed to exacerbate his wrath, especially as he watched Gwendolyn voluntarily partner up with Longbottom. The boy was little better than a squib! Didn't she have any pride?

He didn't know why he decided to kill the Gargoyle really. When Nott had located it hiding under a ledge, the idea had just come to him, and with barely a thought, he had pointed his wand at the creature and muttered the curse.

He had been practicing all summer, of course, with his private tutor. They'd used garden gnomes for the most part, and Draco had particularly enjoyed the odd keening noises they made when subjected to the Crucius curse. He'd also enjoyed the small flicker of pride on his father's face when the tutor had told him he'd never seen someone so young master an Unforgivable Curse so quickly.

The Gargoyle fell over with a dull thud. That was the problem with the Killing Curse, Draco felt: awfully anticlimactic. He had hoped that he would receive some kind of catharsis from killing the repulsive little monster. Instead, all he had gotten were a few detentions, fifty points taken from Slytherin, and a letter home to his father, who had reprimanded him for being a show off and drawing unwelcome attention to his abilities.

None of that bothered him, however. He'd even managed to repress the squirming feelings he'd had when he'd first started using the curses. He hardly even noticed it any more. The thing that bothered him, was that when he'd done it, at first he'd wished that Gwendolyn was there to see what he'd done. And then he'd wished that he'd been able to do it to her.


	5. Draco 3 The Muggle Assassin

Draco Part Three -- The Muggle Assassin

Gwendolyn continued to rebuke his attempts at affection. She returned the note he slipped her in Transfiguration unopened. She avoided him in the hallways, sat as far as possible from him in classes, and blatantly ignored him whenever possible. Draco was only so smitten as to think she was playing hard to get for a few days. Yet the more she withdrew from him, the more he desired her. It was an odd paradox, but not one he was entirely opposed to. He found himself watching for that steely glint that appeared in her eyes whenever he managed to catch her attention. It confused him a bit really, but thrilled him all the same.

The morning of the Daily Prophet article seemed to be going particularly well. New fodder for Potter taunting, his favorite pastime, was always reason to celebrate, and he'd managed to catch Gwendolyn's attention for a moment as they passed in the corridor on the way to breakfast. She and Potter seemed to have had some sort of falling out, and she was to be seen fraternizing with the Gryffindors less and less frequently lately.

When he read the line in the article about that old fraud Moody claiming that a Muggle assassin was after Potter, he almost laughed out loud with glee. It was too good to be true. He couldn't have come up with a better taunt himself. Feeling powerful and completely unstoppable, he sauntered over to the Gryffindor table, waving the paper in front of him.

"Oy, Potter!" he called. "You're telling people that _Muggles_ are out to get you now?" He laughed at his own joke, and a chorus of snickers erupted from the Slytherins behind him. Right on cue, he though happily. Potter stared daggers at him, but it only made Draco feel stronger.

"Well if one of them is, it's a shame he missed," he added. Potter clenched his fists and turned his back. Granger was muttering at him, probably telling him to take the high road. Draco smiled to himself; little did she know, there was no high road when it came to him and Potter.

"Honestly though," he continued, "it's too bad that old fraud Moody croaked him. Might have been the only Muggle in history I would have had something in common with."

"Harry?" Draco whirled around and spotted Gwendolyn advancing towards them, a paper clutched in her hands. This morning kept getting better and better. He grinned wildly as she passed him.

"Don't worry, Gwendolyn," he said suddenly. He dropped his paper and caught her easily in one arm. She froze, her eyes flashing angrily, and Draco felt a surge of power. "I'll protect you from Prissy Potter and his Muggle assassins," he whispered in her ear. He reached up and ran one finger down her cheek, delighted by the way she shivered at his touch.

"Take your hands off of me," she said in a low throaty voice. It thrilled him and he laughed out loud, pulling her closer to him, her body pressed up against his, a warm heat flowing through him.

"Aww... I just thought you might like the attention of a real man for once," he suggested. Gwendolyn began to struggle, trying to evade his grasp, but he only pulled her closer. Everything else was forgotten, it was all about the game now. He felt high on the heady perfume of her fear.

"Let me go, Draco, or I swear -- I will make you a soprano!" Gwendolyn threatened, still trying to push away from him.

He gave her another little laugh. "I love it when you talk dirty..." he whispered.

"You heard her, Malfoy," Potter said suddenly, his wand aimed at Draco's head. "Let her go."

He had completely forgotten that Potter was even there, but now, he gloated inwardly. It was obvious now that Gwendolyn was his and his alone. But with his arms wrapped around her, Draco had no way of fighting back. He glared at Harry triumphantly.

"Go ahead, Potter. There's nothing you can do that scares me." He squeezed Gwendolyn even tighter and she moaned slightly, still pushing against him. The sound made him dizzy and he smiled with pleasure. He wanted to...

"Do what he says!" another voice cried. Draco's smile faltered slightly. He recognized the voice. It was Longbottom's. He almost laughed at the inanity of it.

"Harry!" Granger said suddenly in a warning tone. Potter glanced where she was looking and began to lower his wand. Draco couldn't see what they were looking at, but he hoped it was Crabbe and Goyle coming to his assistance.

"What's going on here?" a stern female voice demanded. Draco glanced up at Professor McGonagall's expression, as hard and impassive as a Gargoyle's. Slowly, deliberately, Draco let his hands slide down off of Gwendolyn's body, savouring the contact. She pushed his hands away at the last moment, and he took a deep steadying breath.

No one moved or spoke. "Back to your house tables," McGonagall said finally. Draco smiled munificently around at each of them before turning to head back to his house table.

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A/N: This is the end of the Draco exercises for a bit, but there will be more to come. The Harry/Gwyn/Draco triangle is tricky! So I need all the help on it I can get. Please review if you've liked it, or even if you haven't!! And if you want to read more, check out the full fiction called **Harry Potter and the Sect of the Serpent.**


	6. Remus and Harry

A/N: This snippet is taken from Chapter 15 of Harry Potter and the Sect of the Serpent. Harry has just realized that a Legilimens can choose which memories to seek out, and that Professor Snape had been intentionally forcing him to relive his worst memories.

I was having trouble with the scene, so I decided to write it from Remus' point of view, and I was quite pleased with some of what I got. So, here it is for your reading pleasure. )

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Remus watched the boy in the mirror rage. His words were strong and angry, hateful really, but his eyes were those of a frightened child who has discovered once again that the world is not what he was promised.

Remus himself was a little shocked by the accusations that poured forth from Harry's lips. They were tainted with the bitter taste of betrayal, but Remus saw the truth in them. Severus had used Harry's past against him, and what little respect the boy might have had for his professor had vanished in a puff of disillusionment.

"And he had the nerve -- _the nerve_ -- to rail at me for looking at his memories, when he'd been mucking about with mine all term!" Harry shouted at him through the mirror. "He made me relive it all on purpose! Everything! The Dementors, Dudley beating me up as a kid, Cedric, the graveyard, my Mum screaming..."

Remus felt his breath catch in his throat. He vividly remembered Harry telling him what he heard when the Dementors approached him almost three years ago, and at the time, he'd been ready to blast every single Dementor off the face of the planet just to spare Harry from the terrible visions they brought.

"And all those bloody nightmares," Harry continued vehemently. "He was laughing at me the whole time, Remus. I know he was."

Remus didn't know what to say to the boy. As likely as not, he was right. Severus was just the sort of twisted bastard that would probably have taken no small pleasure in watching James' son, Sirius' protégé, suffer, yet that couldn't have been the only reason. Severus wasn't the type to cause pain needlessly; as a means to an end, certainly, but never without reason. He'd had to have had a reason.

"How long have you been here?" Harry said suddenly to someone out of Remus' line of sight.

"Long enough," a voice replied shakily.

"Who's there, Harry?" Remus asked. He tried to make out from what little he could see of the room around Harry where he was. It looked like the dormitories perhaps.

"It's just Ron," Harry said flatly. Harry held up the mirror so Ron and Remus could see one another. Ron smiled weakly at him. His face was pale, freckles standing out boldly against his white skin; he looked just as shocked as Remus felt to have heard Harry's revelations.

"Harry," Remus prodded, unwilling to be distracted, "did you tell anyone what was going on? Ron? Hermione?"

Harry scowled, looking back down at the mirror, and shook his head.

"I... I thought that's just how it was supposed to be. I mean, if Voldemort were trying to break into my brain, I didn't expect it to be pleasant, did I?"

Remus considered. He knew what he was going to say next was going to sting, but he didn't see any way around it.

"Perhaps he believed he was acting in your best interests, Harry."

Harry stared at him in disbelief. "How could listening to my Mum be murdered over and over again possible have been in my best interests?" he demanded, but he didn't wait for Remus to answer. "How can you defend him? _He's_ the reason Sirius is dead!"

Remus' strong facade threatened to crack at the mention of his name. "Harry..." he began.

"No!" Harry cut him off. "He is. The dreams were always worse after lessons with him. Making me see all those terrible things again and again only made me _weaker_, Remus! It's his fault I couldn't block out the nightmares! It was all stupid, bloody, Snape's fault."

Remus put his hand across the bridge of his nose in a weary gesture. He couldn't immediately think of any way to respond, so he said the first thing that came into his mind. "Professor Snape, Harry..."

"Fine. Stupid, bloody, greasy _Professor_ Snape's fault."

Remus couldn't believe how much he sounded like Sirius. And James. It seemed eternally unfair that those two should go off and leave Remus alone to cope with a living, breathing, walking reminder of them, whom he couldn't escape even if he'd wanted to. And he didn't want to.

Merlin, the irony of it all! He wanted to join Harry in his indignation and hatred of Severus Snape. He wanted to commiserate and call him dirty names and plot revenge. It's what Padfoot would have done; Prongs too, like as not. But not Mooney. He was destined for loftier ideals, no matter what his gut told him to feel. The Voice of Reason incarnate, a role he had cursed more than once then, yet one he seemed destined forever to reprise.

"Harry, whatever else he may be, Snape is the reason that you're _not_ dead, or had you forgotten that? He's the one who figured out what had happened and sent the rest of us to help you."

"I wish he hadn't," Harry muttered bitterly.

Remus stared at him. "Don't say that!" he said harshly, before he even knew what he was saying. He banged his fist on the table and the remnants of his lunch jumped noisily. "Don't even think that! Harry, you're too important... Sirius knew that and -- believe it or not -- so does Snape."

"I don't want to be important!" Harry shouted back. "I don't want people to die for me or because of me -- and don't say he didn't! I don't want to--" He glanced away from the mirror, presumably over at Ron. "I don't want any of it!"

Remus took a deep steadying breath. He couldn't let his own emotions get the better of him. He'd realized that he'd been losing control more often lately, especially when it came to Harry. The boy had somehow found a chink in the armor, without even knowing it.

"I know you don't," he said finally, his calm facade back in place, his momentary outburst under control. "But you can't live your life in denial, and you can't live it trying to place blame for something that was no one's fault."

He wished futilely that he could reach out through the mirror and touch the boy, lay a hand on his shoulder, be more reassuring somehow. Sirius had been good at it. Remus had seen more than once the way he could just glance at Harry in the right way and all the tension would release from the boy's hunched shoulders. Remus had caught himself unconsciously trying to recreate it more than once, but his glances never seemed to have the same effect. He sighed inwardly.

"You can't waste your life on hate, Harry; it's far too precious for that. Take it from someone who knows."

Harry's expression was something between murderous and morose. He wasn't looking at Remus directly, but scowling off to one side. Remus decided to try a different tact.

"Besides, look what it does to a person. You want to end up looking like Professor Snape? Or with grey hair at thirty like me?" Harry snorted reluctantly, his eyes finally traveling back to meet Remus'. Deep green eyes that had seen too much; old in his young man's face. Lily's eyes. Remus felt his throat constricting painfully again and tried to push the thought from his mind.

"I'm sorry," Harry said finally. He gave another ironic little snort. "I seem to be saying that to you a lot, lately. I swear, I'm not normally this much of a prat."

"Yeah you are," Ron retorted from somewhere out of Remus' line of sight. Harry grinned, and so did Remus.


End file.
